


You Are The Words That I Will Sing

by OfficialStarsandGutters



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: F/F, Fem Gallavich, GW2017B, Gallavich Week, because people keep asking, day 3: reunion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-01
Updated: 2017-08-01
Packaged: 2018-12-09 18:14:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,960
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11674461
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OfficialStarsandGutters/pseuds/OfficialStarsandGutters
Summary: For Gallavich Week Day Three: Reuinion.-FEM Gallavich.-There she is, in all her glory: Ian Gallagher. Her face is bright with laughter in response to the cheering. As she starts to turn, Ian just happens to glance in her direction. Their eyes lock, and Mickey is frozen in place, held under the power of that gaze. The giddy joy slowly melts from Ian's expression, and she looks briefly lost.





	You Are The Words That I Will Sing

**Author's Note:**

> When this idea came to me, it was just a scene of them reuniting, but it has grown and grown into a full world in my head, and I really love this verse. The words poured out of me every time I sat down. Also I have a headcanon Ian loves Ed Sheeran that I don't get to explore much (if you read a lot of my work you will see brief mentions pop up here and there), so it was really fun to delve more into that.
> 
> I made a playlist of (most of) the songs that feature in this over on Spotify. You can listen here: https://open.spotify.com/user/starsandgutters/playlist/2rvYRfuG19dboVf5Q2ZWU8
> 
> There's just a few missing that were not on Spotify.
> 
> Also I listened to a LOT of female artists to try and find what I imagine Ian's voice sounded like. I couldn't get any spot on, but Mackenzie Johnson is probably the closest. She's done a load of Ed Sheeran covers, so you can actually find most of the songs Ian sings on her YouTube (also, she's just worth checking out because she's extremely talented) here: https://www.youtube.com/user/MackenzieMusic26
> 
> EDIT:  
> Since someone actually had to ask me this, this is fem Gallavich. Y'know. In case all the female pronouns didn't make that clear. Like. The fact that I made sure the summary included both of them being referred to as female. So, like, if you don't like fem Gallavich, don't read it.

Mickey stands to the back of the crowd, already itching for a cigarette to take the edge off. She reaches blind into her pocket and pokes around for the pack. She doesn't dare take her eyes off the road, even as she fumbles out a cigarette and goes back to dig for her lighter. She's just lighting up as Fiona Gallagher's car pulls up and the crowd roars, clapping and cheering. The back door kicks open, and Mickey's hand falls limply away from her mouth.

There she is, in all her glory: Ian Gallagher. Her face is bright with laughter in response to the cheering. She has Liam propped in one arm, and her other siblings fall out of the car behind her, Debbie and Carl coming to stand at her side, both grinning. Lip and Fiona join them from the front seats, surrounding her, protecting her from the crowd.

“Okay, if you could, uh, just clear a path so we could get into the house,” Lip says.

“Yeah, Ian's tired, guys. C'mon, let her get some rest.”

Ian, however, has slipped through the gaps, and is hugging people, posing for selfies, signing autographs, all with a giggling Liam hanging on around her neck. Then Kev and V appear, Veronica nudging her way through, and the crowd parting for Kev's intimidating height, twins taking up both his arms.

“Didn't forget about us, did ya?” V says, smiling and holding up a bottle of something, most likely alcoholic.

“Never.” Mickey can just about make out Ian's voice, soft and warm and fond, and she feels sick, feels dizzy with want, feels aching right down to her core.

She's getting ready to leave; this was a bad idea. She shouldn't have come. She's just torturing herself. As she starts to turn, Ian just happens to glance in her direction. Their eyes lock, and Mickey is frozen in place, held under the power of that gaze. The giddy joy slowly melts from Ian's expression, and she looks briefly lost, before Kev is moving near her with the twins, diverting her attention, and she paints that smile back in place.

Mickey breathes out a shuddering sigh before she turns and walks away.

*

She had tried to go see Ian the last time she had come home, but in the end she had only walked to the Gallagher house with her hood pulled up, stared at the top window for all of thirty seconds, then retreated again.

There had been no crowd that time, no happy fans wanting to cheer her at the end of her tour. The article went up a few days before Ian came back to the south side, and Mickey, who constantly searched for any news about her since she left, had read it twice, struggling to process what it meant. Bipolar. A diagnosis that came after months of reckless behaviour, frequent drinking, drug abuse.

' _I just thought it was the tour life, y'know? I thought I was fine. I thought this is what musicians did. It didn't seem strange to me. I mean, everything was strange in a way. Being away from home, touring, playing these big stadiums with so many people. It was all kinda mad, y'know?_ '

Knowing Ian was sick, there was nothing she wanted more than to be with her, help her. She didn't know what she could do, but surely there must be something? But Ian wouldn't want to see her, and that was her fault.

' _I just thought I was buzzed on touring. I always had this energy. I could perform, party afterwards, up early the next morning for press, in for rehearsals, no problem. Sometimes I might have been getting four hours, less, sleep a night, but I felt great. I had so much energy. I just, I had all these ideas. I was writing so many songs. I felt so inspired. That's the thing with the mania. It doesn't feel bad. It doesn't feel like an illness. It's... Indescribable, really. It's like the best high ever. You don't want it to end, so it can be hard to comprehend that it's not just a good thing._ '

Mickey remembered watching interviews from when Ian was touring. She had thought something was off, but couldn't place it. Perhaps Ian's fast talking was due to excitement. Maybe the odd lilt to her voice was something she'd picked up on the road. The dark around her eyes was probably due to tiredness; after all, touring was tiring, right? She would never have guessed this.

' _It's hard to say exactly when I realised something was wrong. From the inside, it's very hard to see. You're very present in what you're feeling at any moment. It's harder to step back, to view that as part of an overall trend and consider what it might mean. But, uh, I guess it was when I went through a low period that it came to more attention. I thought I was crashing. We'd been touring for months, y'know? I thought, it makes sense to be tired. Who wouldn't be tired? But it wasn't the kind of tired that went away after I slept, and I did sleep, a lot. I spent almost any moment I didn't have to be awake for something in my bunk, and every time I woke up, it was harder to get out of it, until one day, I just couldn't. I know that might sound dumb to someone who's never felt that way, but it was... Looking back, I guess it was kinda scary, but I didn't feel scared at the time. I didn't feel anything, really. Feeling took too much energy. Moving was too much energy. Just existing was almost too much energy. My fuel tank was completely on empty. I felt so disconnected from my body, and it was so... Heavy. Like a physical weight weighing down on me. Like all my limbs had swollen and my bones had turned to lead or something. I dunno. It was one of the worst feelings of my life, and when I wouldn't get up, that's when my manager thought something was up. He was worried I'd overdosed or something. (laughs)_ '

She just couldn't imagine it, not the Ian she knew, so vibrant and driven and full of life. The Ian who got up at ass o'clock to go running, who did push ups for _fun_ , who loved to dance almost as much as she loved to sing.

' _Uh, yeah, I did have a few issues with drugs for a while, and drinking. I didn't realise at the time that it was kind of a way of self medicating. Like, I know the mania felt really good, and everything felt like it was in real sharp clarity, and it made sense, and I could see how things were connected in ways they never were before, but, I guess, even though I felt very clear headed, my mind was actually kind of hazy. I wasn't thinking choices through. I was really impulsive. Someone would hand me a drink, and I'd down it. Someone would offer me drugs, and I'd think it was a great idea, that it would just make me feel better than I already did. I guess those were the early warning signs, but I didn't know, I wasn't informed enough to catch them._ '

Mickey had sat on her bed and cried. She spent almost an hour Googling bipolar. She cried some more; silent tears, part grief for Ian, part anger at herself for causing the distance between them.

' _Yeah, definitely, I think it's really important to raise awareness. Like, in the mid 90s, the average age of people being diagnosed with bipolar was 32. It's under 19 now. That's because there's more awareness, even doctors themselves are more informed, they're able to catch the symptoms quicker. At first, I really struggled; my mother has bipolar, and she never followed her treatment, so she was very volatile and unstable. I was terrified of being like her. In my mind, I was so separate from that, so I said no, you've made a mistake, I can't be bipolar. I had a lot of denial, and, if I'm honest, a lot of shame as well. Which is ridiculous. We don't expect people with cancer to be ashamed. We don't expect people to be too embarrassed to go out with their broken limbs in a cast, to shy away from questions. We don't expect asthma sufferers to hide their inhalers, but with mental illness, there's this huge stigma. It's bullshit. So I've already sent donations off to a few charities, and once I've had some time at home to rest and get back on my feet, I'm going to do a benefit show. Oh, I've also got some resources. Can we put them below the interview?_ '

It was raining when Mickey went to Ian's house, but that wasn't the real purpose of the hood. She already knew before she stepped onto North Wallace that she wasn't going into that house. She wasn't going to knock on that door. What would she even say? She had no right to bring her pain and grief when Ian was the one with the illness. She had no right to offer condolences. She had no right to know anything about Ian, and yet she still dug through the internet, looking for any scraps of information she could find.

Still, as she stared up at the front window, there was a burning hope in her chest that Ian might just happen to glance out, might see her, might understand what her presence there meant, but she never did.

*

Mickey flops face down onto her bed and groans into the pillow. She feels like she's been shook hard enough to set loose everything inside her, let it all mash together into a mess. She keeps seeing the bright smile on Ian's face as she got out of the car, genuine, lovely. That big, uninhibited, dorky grin that she used to wear for Mickey.

“Dumbass,” Mickey says to herself, then slowly pushes herself up. She reaches under her mattress and pulls out a magazine. Inside it is a mass of photos, thick, all torn or cut from magazines, all of Ian. Some of her sweaty on stage, shining beneath the lights. Some of her cradling her acoustic guitar delicately to her stomach, long fingers stretched along the fretboard. A lot are photo shoots; often just in casual clothes, jeans and hoodies or shirts, lounging against walls or just sitting on sofas. Some are more stylized. Never particularly feminine (Mickey had never seen her in a skirt), but themed. Her favourite is the boxing photo shoot. Ian in three quarter length sweat pants and a sports bra (not that she needed that, her chest already flat). Her nipples slightly dented the material of the bra. Her body toned and sweaty, looking just slightly tanned with the lightning. Her hair shaved tight at the sides and back in an undercut, longer on the top, ruffled with gel. There's some of her punching the bag, one of her splashing water over herself, one of her with the gloves draped around her neck. It's not a particularly sexual shoot, wouldn't seem like one if it were a man, but it turns Mickey on every time.

Sniffing, she props some of her favourite Ian photos around her on the bed. Next, she opens YouTube on her laptop, and scrolls through the Watch It Again section for one of her favourite Ian songs. It's a slow acoustic song, Ian's voice soft and low, about a girl with eyes like the skies and delicate marble thighs, hints of sexual undertones beneath the imagery. It drives Mickey mad with jealousy to think of the girls Ian is writing songs about, so she doesn't, just pretends that it's about her. With Ian's voice filling the air, and Ian's image spread around her, she sticks her hand down her pants. It's not the same. It never is, but it's the only way she feels close to Ian any more.

Silent tears roll down her cheek as she tries to ignore the pain clawing the inside of her chest, but it is insistent, distracting, and eventually she sighs and gives up on trying to get herself off. It's no good. There's too much going on in her head right now. She kicks Ian's photographs off the bed and swings her fist towards the laptop, changing at the last second to punch the wall instead. Pain bursts through her hand. The skin of her knuckles splits.

“Fuck.” She hisses, holding her hand to her chest before she shakes it out. Then, with more feeling: “Fuck.”

Her hand falls limp and aching to her lap.

“Fuck you, Gallagher.”

*

She can pinpoint the exact moment it all went wrong. It was a concert at the Alibi. Ian had just got signed, and the whole neighbourhood was celebrating. She'd gotten up to play a few songs on the shoddy makeshift stage made out of tables Kev had set up. She'd played a few of her own, then rested the guitar on her lap to take a drink.

“Okay, this next song is a cover, and if you know me at all, you can probably guess who it is.”

Quite a few people yelled out: “Ed Sheeran!”

Ian laughed delightedly. As she sat her glass down, she caught Mickey's eye, still smiling.

“Yeah,” she says. “Yeah, it is.”

Then she'd started to play _Sing_. As she played, she kept glancing towards Mickey, sat with her head bowed at the bar, under the pretence she was only there to drink rather than to stare at Ian. Then once Ian reached the chorus, she made purposeful eye contact with Mickey, and this time, she did not look away.

“ _If you love me, come on get involved. Feel it rushin' through you from your head to toe._ ”

Mickey felt like there was a spotlight on her. That she was being stripped bare and exposed to everyone in the bar, forcefully dragged out, dyke display. When she thought back on it later, no one had paid any mind. No one but her had noticed who Ian was looking at, but at the time, she had felt panic tightening her chest, had felt anger rise in response. She had slammed down her pint glass and stormed out before the song was over.

“You left early,” Ian said later, finding her angrily smoking in the alley.

“What the fuck was that bullshit about?” Mickey had breathed smoke in a haze of rage, her free hand balled tightly at her side.

“It was just music, Mick.”

“You know damn well what you were doin' in there was more than music,” she hissed, throwing her cigarette aside.

“No one else did.” Ian stood, unaffected as always by her rage, and Mickey felt powerless, felt even more angry because Ian was so indifferent to the storm of emotions inside her. “I just-”

“You what? I told you, we ain't boyfriend girlfriend here.”

“Yeah. Rather be girlfriend girlfriend.”

“I'm getting pretty sick of your bullshit, Gallagher,” Mickey said, slamming Ian back against the wall. Pain flickered briefly across her expression, and Mickey felt victorious. Finally, a reaction, a ripple on Ian's calm surface. “Good thing you're fucking off soon.”

This time the pain stayed longer, Ian's eyes round and bright in the street light, looking at Mickey like a wounded dog. She wanted to soothe the ache. She wanted to kiss Ian, more than anything, but the mess inside her had not been satisfied yet. Ian had hurt her, so in return, Ian had to hurt. An eye for an eye.

“You pull that shit again, I'll kneecap you.” She drove her knee into Ian's stomach before stepping away, leaving her breathing hard and holding her stomach. “That's one way to forget about PMS cramps, ey?”

Mickey let her laughter trail behind her as she walked away. It faded once she was out of sight, and the bubbling anger in the pit of her stomach was replaced with the sick, sinking feeling of regret.

*

She holds her phone for a while, opened on a text chat with Ian. It's the same message that's been on the cracked screen for over a year and a half now:

_haha very funny ok I'll see you at work then_

Meaningless, every day conversation that Mickey had poured over time and time again in Ian's absence, trying to imagine her voice saying the words. Her thumbs move over the keyboard but don't press, tracing out words she isn't capable of typing. Eventually she sighs and tosses the phone aside, pushing a hand through her hair.

She keeps seeing Ian's eyes across the crowd, Ian's crumbling expression as she recognised her.

*

Mickey lowered her weight when she heard voices, straining her ears to make out who it was. She was surprised when she picked out Ian's voice; hadn't expected to see her again after their fight outside the Alibi. She regretted it almost immediately, had gone home and almost drunk dialled Ian to apologise, then spent the days in between trying to work out how to close the gap before Ian left.

Maybe she didn't have to, now. Maybe Ian was missing her just as much and she wanted to make a move to fix it.

Mickey wandered out, sweat shining on her toned arms. She looked Ian over with a grin, propping a shoulder against the wall as she strove for casual detachment.

“Hey,” she said, eyebrows arched.

“Hey,” Ian said, her voice quiet, her eyes only briefly looking towards Mickey before they flicked away.

“I'm up to four sets of twenty.” Mickey flexed with the weight in hand, pride evident in her voice. She waited for Ian to give her the acknowledgement and encouragement she always did; the kind of praise and validation she never found anywhere else. Again, Ian only briefly glanced at her. Mickey's expression wavered. “So... You wanna come to my room, or what?”

“I'm just here to see Mandy,” Ian said, still not looking at Mickey. “To say bye before I go.”

Then she did look at her, those blue-green eyes like the tumultuous ocean, drawing Mickey in, drowning her.

“I'm not here for you.” Ian's tone was icy, and after she spoke, she put more distance between them, stepping further down the hall. Mickey watched, a mixture of angry and hurt.

“Ah, I see. So you're still huffin' with me.”

“I'm not huffing, Mick. I'm just done wasting my time on people who don't want me.”

“Oh, so that's what this? Just a big ol' waste of time, then?”

“I didn't think so.” Ian's voice was soft, then. Fragile and vulnerable. Mickey felt sick. “But obviously I thought wrong.”

She started to walk away and Mickey felt panic rising, felt the desperate need to act, now.

“Don't,” she said, though don't what, she didn't know. Don't go? That was stupid to ask. This was the opportunity Ian had been waiting for. She was going. Don't leave us this way? Maybe. Or maybe it was just a quiet, desperate plea not to be forgotten.

“Don't what, Mickey?”

When Mickey had no answer to offer, Ian sighed and walked on, walked out, leaving Mickey on her own again.

*

Mickey stares at her expression in the mirror; pale faced, dark eyed, but clean. Much cleaner than the grimy faced girl in scruffy clothes with dirt beneath her fingernails she had been when she first met Ian. She sucks on her bottom lip before reaching for more gel, trying to coax the birds nest of her hair to lie flat. She's sporting the same undercut as Ian, though not intentionally. She'd had hers cut before she saw the pictures, and felt a warm buzz of connection to find Ian sporting the same. A small, trivial detail that meant nothing compared to the distance between them, but made her feel, even briefly, close to Ian. Her top bit has grown out some now, though, and defiantly tries to rise regardless of how much gel she slaps on it. Eventually she tames it into a kind of bouffant before abandoning it.

She assesses herself with scrutiny. Dark blue dress shirt that she'd found in the house, but was certain her brothers had never worn a dress shirt in their lives, tucked into dark jeans. It's silly. She knows. There's no certainty she's even going to see Ian, but now that she's back in the neighbourhood, every time Mickey leaves the house there's that risk (that opportunity?) that she might bump into her. She wants to make a good impression. Perhaps if she looks different on the surface Ian might take time to see how she's different underneath.

She squirts on some of Mandy's perfume and immediately regrets it, almost choking on the sweet fragrance, using her own boy's deodorant to drown it out, but a hint of sweetness clings to the base of her throat. Even her nails are cut and clean, though she doubts that's necessary, doubts that even if she did see Ian, anything would happen.

It's cold outside. Mickey pulls on her old, faded, puffy coat as she steps into the chill. She walks swiftly, but her eyes roam the street as she moves, searching, hoping. She makes it to the Alibi without seeing Ian, and sinks into what has become her usual seat by the bar. Kev sits a pint in front of her before she even asks.

“Thanks.”

*

She started coming to the Alibi a month after Ian left to start recording her debut album. She'd thought it might be better than stewing over things in her room, might be better to get out and move and at least not be isolated in her day drinking.

“You hear anything about Gallagher?” she'd asked, after a few weeks, not looking directly at Kev.

“Which one?”

“Ian.”

“Yeah, last I heard she was doing great. Put her up in a fancy hotel and all in LA. Now, that's the life. That's the kinda place me and V are gonna stay when the girls become tennis superstars.”

Mickey nodded, not really interested in Kev's dream for his kids, slightly disappointed he hadn't given her more details about Ian. She was doing good, though. That was something.

“Thought you'd have been talking to her.”

“What?” Mickey's eyebrows raised, shoulders tense. “Why?”

“I dunno. You used to hang out, right? Seemed pretty tight.”

Mickey shrugs.

“Just saw her around sometimes,” she said, and Kev didn't push it any further.

*

Mickey's eyes keep flicking to the door every time it opens, tensing, a mixture of nervous excitement rising in her chest. Each time she sees it is not Ian, the tension releases. She's nearing the bottom of her second pint when the door opens again. Mickey's eyes flick up automatically, but this time her body holds onto the tension as Ian steps through the door with Lip, both of them laughing. She looks at them for as long as she dares, then tears her eyes away before Ian catches her looking, staring hard at the top of the bar instead.

“There's our local superstar,” Kev says, and the rest of the bar cheers. Mickey glances from the corner of her eye, catching Ian's sheepish head dip as she waves off the attention. “What can I get you?”

“I hate to say this, Kev, but the lightest beer you have.”

“Might not be all that light, Ian.”

Ian shrugs. Lip calls her a pussy, and she elbows him hard in the ribs. He orders himself a beer, and the two of them stay at the bar, only two stools down from Mickey. She can feel each thud of her pulse, is suddenly extremely aware of every inch of her body, is barely breathing. She had wanted to see Ian, but now that she's here, she's lost. She doesn't know what to say to her. She doesn't know how to close that gap between them.

“Need a top up, Mickey?” Kev asks, and Ian turns at the sound of her name. She catches Mickey side glancing at her, and Mickey is frozen, half terrified of what could happen. Ian hesitates only a second before she smiles, thin, a touch forced.

“Hey, Mickey.”

“Hey,” Mickey says, almost too quiet to catch, her voice failing her. She's stunned by the fact Ian has acknowledged her. Clearing her throat, she straightens her shoulders, slides into the tough surface mask she's so used to wearing. This time, her tone is more casual, almost closed off, like she's unaffected by Ian's presence. “Didn't think a big hot shot celebrity like you would come back here.”

“I'm not-” Ian starts, but then changes her mind. “'Course I'd be back to see my family.”

“Can't believe Fiona doesn't wanna move,” Kev says, as he refills Mickey's glass. “If that were me, I'd be out of here before you even finished askin'.”

“You're moving?” Mickey fights hard to keep the note of panic from her voice. If Ian moves, she loses the one tie they have. If the Gallaghers move, she knows she'll never see her again, only on a screen, only from the back of a crowd at one of her concerts, only on the glossy pages of magazines.

“Well I was gonna get a house, out of here, somewhere nice, with better schools for the kids and stuff, but none of them really wanted to go,” Ian says.

“Once south side, always south side,” says Lip.

“Nuh uh. Not me. I'd be gone tomorrow,” Kev says.

“Maybe I should buy you a house, then.”

The Gallaghers and Kev fall into their own easy conversation, and Mickey turns back to her drink, feeling distant and isolated. She tries to find another in as they talk about family and the twins and all kinds of shit she can't input on. She notices Ian get more giggly and talkative as she works through her beer, remembers an Ian who could drink most of a six pack before she even got tipsy.

“Bein' famous make you a lightweight?” she asks when Lip disappears to the toilet, brows raised. Ian looks at her with a brief frown.

“Nah, being bipolar did.”

Mickey wishes she'd kept her stupid mouth shut.

“Oh... Sorry, man.”

“It's okay.” Ian shrugs. “Just a side effect of the meds. Cheap date, now.”

She laughs, and the sound washes over Mickey like a fresh breeze. Automatically, her own lips quirk up in a smile.

“Your album was good,” she says, quiet.

“You listened to it?”

“'Course I did.”

“Oh. Thanks.”

Mickey nods. She wants to tell her she missed her, that she missed her so much, in an intense kind of way she hasn't missed anyone since her mom died, but there are too many people, too many listening ears eavesdropping. Her lips stay pressed together.

“How've you been?” Ian shifts towards her slightly. Mickey shrugs.

“Same old. Shit never changes round here. What about you? You, uh. Managing okay. With your, y'know. Thing?”

“My thing?”

“The... Bipolar, thing.”

“Yeah, Mick.” Ian laughs. “I'm managing my bipolar thing just fine.”

Mickey feels ridiculous. She feels like a fuckin' kid with their first crush, clumsy and awkward around Ian, terrified of making a wrong move.

“That's good. You, uh. Have a good time touring?”

“Amazing.” Ian's face lights up, and she leans closer. “So incredible. I can't believe how well it went and how quick the album took off, like, wow? No one was expecting that. I thought I'd be playing support or doing small clubs and stuff, but to have whole venues packed out... Indescribable.”

Mickey smiles softly at her excitement.

“Sleep with anyone famous?”

“Ahhh. Not really famous-famous. Except Ruby Rose, I guess.”

“Who's that?” Mickey's jaw tenses with jealousy, and she wishes she hadn't asked. It had only been a snide kind of joke, not a true invitation to listen to Ian's exploits.

“She's a model and an actress, and maybe more, I'm not really sure.”

“Wow. Really got to know her, huh?”

“Biblically.” Ian laughs, taking another sip of her drink. There's a glint in her eye, something dark, something predatory, the kind of look Mickey's seen before when she's just come and she's over-sensitive, and Ian glances up from between her thighs with that wicked glint, presses her hips down into the bed, and continues to lick until she's pleading her to stop or until she's ripped a second orgasm from her. “Nah, it uh, wasn't really a thing. Just a one night stand after a party.”

“Right.”

“Oh, and I met Ed Sheeran! Funny, actually, he tried to hit on me. Like, Ed, I really love you as a musician, but I'm really, really gay.”

Mickey snorts, still prickly at the thought of Ian with another woman.

“But, yeah, such a great experience. Just, tiring after a while. Real tiring. I'm glad to get home for a while to rest up before I start the next album.”

“Good luck with that.”

Then Lip comes back, and Ian shifts back towards him.

“It was good seein' you, Mick,” she says, before she leaves. She touches her arm and Mickey feels the touch burn right through her shirt.

“Yeah. You too.” Mickey's tongue pokes at the corner of her mouth, trapped beneath Ian's gaze. Her voice lowers, her next words ushered like a secret in the space between them: “You look good.”

Ian smiles, a little hazy, and squeezes her arm briefly before stepping away.

*

“I like fuckin' carrot tops,” Mickey slurred, leaning heavily into the bar. It was over a month since she'd started her trips to the Alibi, and she'd gone a bit too hard. “Like, with the freckles, and the pale skin... Fuckin' alien lookin'.”

She gestured vaguely with a hand, not seeing what was in front of her, but Ian. Ian's pale skin spread beneath her. The freckles on Ian's hands, her arms, the curves of her shoulders, the incredibly pale ones sprinkled across her nose and the one that overlapped her top lip. The difference between the slight pink tinge of the skin that saw sunlight, and the complete whiteness of the skin beneath her clothes; her breasts, her stomach, the tops of her thighs. Her flat chest but puffy, dusky pink nipples. Her blue-green eyes like the shifting shades of the ocean. Her scent and the taste of her wetness and the way the smell of her arousal would cling to Mickey's fingers for the rest of the day.

“Well you might be in luck,” Kev said, nodding towards the back of the bar. Mickey turned, unsteady on her stool, and squinted across the dimly lit room. He was indicating a large man with short ginger hair and a ginger beard, wearing a plaid shirt over a stained white vest. “Why don't you buy him a beverage?”

“I don't need to,” Mickey said, dropping her shot glass. She stumbled off her stool and swayed as she swaggered across the room. “Hey. Wanna bang?”

The guy looked her over; not much a sight in her hoody and jeans, but she seemed to pass his inspection.

“Sure.”

They got as far as the bathroom, but once he'd opened his jeans and she saw the sad sight of his cock, ugly and red, nestled in the tangled curls of his pubes, the tip already leaking precum, she couldn't do it. She couldn't go back to pretending to be into _that_ , into the sorry sight of some overweight stranger's leaking cock. Not after she'd had Ian, had tasted between her thighs, had buried her fingers and tongue into the wet warmth of her. The thought of his dick being in her made her stomach turn, and she staggered back, feeling nauseous.

“Something wrong?” he asked, lazily stroking himself as he waited for her to undress.

“Yeah. You're fuckin' wrong,” she said, and half fell out the door.

“Not so lucky?” Kev asked, when she returned to the bar.

“Dick's so fuckin' small wouldn't even be worth it.” Mickey scowled, motioning for another shot.

*

Mickey goes home and Googles Ruby Rose, glaring angrily at the image results. She can't really deny that she's hot as hell, which makes it worse. Dark hair, blue eyes, that haircut? It's like Ian traded her in for a much better looking version. Mickey pushes her laptop away with a growl and runs a hand down over her face. She feels the sudden, insistent (drunken) urge for action.

It's less than ten minutes until she's outside the Gallagher house. She forgot her coat in her hurry, her shirt now only half tucked in, the top buttons undone. She's unsteady on her feet as she looks up at Ian's window, breath fogging in front of her, but she's too buzzed to feel the cold. Her phone is open on Ian's number, and she presses call now.

“Mickey?” Ian's voice is thick with sleep.

“Come down.”

“What?”

“I'm outside your house. Come down.”

There's rustling on Ian's side of the line, then her face appears at the window. Mickey looks up, slack jawed, watching her with reverence.

“Please,” she says, barely louder than a breath. Ian sighs.

“Go round the back. I'll be down in a minute.”

Mickey jogs round the back, shifting impatiently from foot to foot before Ian appears. She's wearing baggy sweatpants and has pulled a hoody on over a vest. She rubs at her tired eyes.

“What are you doin-?” She breaks off into a yawn.

“I missed you,” Mickey says, forcing the words out in a rush. “I really fuckin' missed you and I wish I hadn't fucked things up before and I hate the idea of you fuckin' other people.”

She looks at Ian, her breathing slightly ragged, her eyes burning with the threat of tears. Ian runs a hand back through her hair, tugging on it gently, before she shifts the door open a little wider.

“It's fuckin' freezing out here.” She leaves the door open as an invite and moves to the kitchen. Mickey comes after her and closes the door, dropping heavily into one of the chairs at the table. She feels exposed, vulnerable, like she's stripped herself bare for Ian. The lack of response sets her on edge.

Ian shifts round the kitchen for a bit, then comes back with a steaming cup of coffee that she places in front of Mickey.

“Why aren't you wearin' a coat?”

“Dunno. Guess I forgot. Wanted to get here as quick as possible. Seemed important.”

“So after almost two years of silence, it's _now_ you felt it important to tell me this.”

“No- I.” Mickey feels her cheeks heat. “I didn't think you'd want me callin' or whatever. You were off... Doin' shit. Achieving shit. I was just here, continuing to rot in this shithole.”

“So, what, you think I thought you weren't good enough for me?”

“I'm not,” Mickey says quietly, looking into her mug.

“Fuck you, Mickey. That has nothing to do with it. I wanted you. I was always honest about that, but you couldn't be honest with me. I know I wasn't the only one who felt it-”

“You weren't.”

“But I was the only one that could admit it. I can't go back to that. I need stability, especially now, especially when this bullshit illness constantly does its best to deprive me of that. We didn't have that. We were heat, and passion, and really great fucking, but we were never stable. I wanted more, and you didn't, and that's fine, but you don't get to change your mind. You don't get to come back and pick me up when you feel like it. I've... I've moved on, Mick. You need to do the same.”

Mickey feels like she's sinking. Not just her heart, not just the sickening drop of her stomach, but her whole body, slowly sinking down into the earth. Except she's still here, with Ian still staring at her, waiting for a response. This is it. Finality. A definite end to them.

“Right,” she says, struggling to maintain a calm surface, but the crack in her voice betrays what's beneath. “I'll just fuck off then.”

“We can still be friends,” Ian says. Mickey stands, shakes her head.

“No,” she says, moving towards the door. She takes one last glance over her shoulder at Ian. “I don't think you and me can ever just be friends.”

*

The first time she saw Ian perform was at a dingy club close to the city. Mickey was dealing drugs in the joint, paying little attention to the loud, clashing mess of noise coming from the band on the small stage. She had just gotten rid of the last of her gear and was getting ready to leave when the next performer stepped up onto the stage.

Her hair shone red beneath the club lights, and Mickey squinted, trying to place her face. It wasn't until halfway through her first song that Mickey realised it was Ian Gallagher, a kid from Mandy's class she'd seen her hanging about with a few times. Mickey moved to the bar, ordering a beer and leaning against it to watch. She'd seen Gallagher out running before, knew she was into the ROTC shit, but would never have pegged her as a musical type.

Ian played mostly covers, with one of her own songs (though Mickey didn't know that at the time) in the middle. The crowd paid less attention during that one, only wanting something familiar they could drunkenly sing along to as they danced. At the end, Ian hopped off the stage and zig zagged through the crowd to the bar, collecting her payment, which was a free drink.

“Ey,” Mickey said, smirking at her across the bar. “Gallagher, right? You ain't bad.”

Ian looked up in surprise, then grinned, sheepish.

“Shit. Didn't think anyone would know me here.”

“Didn't know you played.”

“Yeah.” Ian smiled, idly stroking the guitar still hanging by her side.

“You sing pretty good, too.”

“Thanks.” Ian glanced up almost shyly, but then her shoulders pulled back and her chest raised, shifting into a more confident stance. “Whatcha doin' down here? Didn't think this would be your scene.”

“You think you know my scene?” Mickey raised her eyebrows, but the wild grin curling at the corner of her mouth showed she was teasing.

They had talked for a while over their drinks, then continued to talk over more drinks. Mostly Mickey just asked prompting questions, and Ian seemed more than happy to talk in response, telling Mickey about her favourite artists and where else she performed and how long she'd been playing. Now and then she would touch Mickey in a casual way, give her a certain inviting smile, or meet and hold her gaze in a way that made her think she was flirting. She kept telling herself she was imagining this, projecting her sexuality onto others, that some girls were just overly friendly and touchy feely, and Ian was probably just one of them.

She had looked different back then. Her face wasn't quite as sharply defined just yet, still holding some of the roundness of youth. Her hair was longer, but still boyish, bangs hanging down into her eyes. Her freckles had been darker then, dominating her face. She hadn't hit her growth spurt and was still around Mickey's height, hadn't developed her muscle definition as much. She still had that same bright, uninhibited smile, that dorky laugh unlike anyone Mickey had ever known, the same green-blue eyes. Mickey had still wanted her, badly.

After shots they had went to the bathroom together, and Mickey has no memory of how she ended up pressed against a bathroom wall with Ian's tongue in her mouth and hand on her breast, but she had no complaints. She felt safe enough here, far enough away from home, that her walls didn't automatically go up. She'd backed Ian into a stall, hands pawing over her. Ian's guitar had bumped the side of the stall, twanging loudly, and they had separated, laughing, breathless.

Ian propped her guitar beside the toilet and pulled Mickey closer by her ass, kneading it beneath her hands and sliding her thigh between Mickey's legs, firm pressure. Mickey moaned into her mouth and squirmed against the thigh, humping lightly, trying to alleviate the throb of arousal. Then Ian's lips were at her neck, one hand under her shirt, tugging her bra cup down so Ian could thumb at her nipple. Mickey gasped, clutching at Ian's hair.

It was quick, and a little messy. Ian crouched painfully on the sticky bathroom floor. Mickey's pants and underwear around her knees. One, then two, then three of Ian's fingers inside her, sliding in and out in a steady rhythm as her tongue thrummed against Mickey's clit. She clung to the walls of the stall when she came, her thighs quivering, legs shaky and weak beneath her.

Mickey had never been with a girl, and had feared going down on Ian in case she wasn't good at it. So she'd settled for roughly shoving her against the wall of the cubicle and sticking a hand down her pants, rubbing her clit in fast, hard circles. Ian panted, watching her through hooded eyes, hips pressing forward against her touch. It seemed to be enough, because it wasn't long before Ian's thighs were clamping around her hand, her teeth biting into the material of Mickey's hoody to stifle any sound.

“Fuck,” she said, breathless, when Mickey had withdrawn her hand.

“Yeah.”

They'd shared a cigarette on the way to the El, and when they get off, they parted ways with few words. As Mickey walked home, she raised her fingers to her nose and breathed in the lingering scent of Ian, a reminder that that had actually happened. Now that she was out in the sticky heat of the summer night air, surrounded by the shouting and barking and other unpleasant sounds of her neighbourhood, their time in the club felt distant and unreal.

*

It's almost three weeks later and Mickey has barely left the house. She doesn't want to run into Ian, feels hurt and embarrassed after their exchange, but also angry. Mostly at herself, but also at Ian for making her feel this way, for turning her into a pathetic mess who doesn't even wanna leave the house in case she runs into her.

Despite this, she continues to keep tabs on any news of Ian in the media. It surprises her when she sees she's been to record another song. An acoustic collab with Halsey. Huh. Maybe she'd been touring in Chicago, because Mickey hadn't heard of Ian leaving yet. She clicks open the link to the YouTube video, feeling freshly miserable when she sees Ian, cradling her guitar and smiling at the girl sat on a stool beside her.

“Bitch,” Mickey mumbles, then turns the volume up. The guitar plays an intro and then the lyrics start. At first Mickey doesn't pay much attention, waiting for Ian to sing, but then she starts to process the words, and feels a fresh tightness in her chest.

“ _We're not lovers, we're just strangers._ ”

She knows it's not Ian's song, but somehow it feels very personal, feels very aimed at her, especially when Ian starts to sing.

“ _She never calls me on the phone any more. She's never listenin'._ ”

Mickey presses her knuckles to her lips as she starts to cry. The sobs shake her body slightly, but she doesn't take her eyes off the screen.

“ _I miss the mornings with you layin' in my bed. I miss the memories replayin' in my head. I miss the thought of a forever you and me, but all you're missin' is my body._ ”

Mickey listens to the song three more times, curled on her side on her bed. Then she angrily wipes away her tears and pulls her laptop towards her. She has to do something about this shit.

*

“The fuck is this?” Mickey said, looking up from the CD case in her hand to Ian.

“A mixtape,” Ian said. “Well, a mix CD, I guess.”

“That's gay as fuck.”

“It's just... A playlist, really. Of songs I thought you'd like, or that remind me of you. There's a little sheet inside with the songs on it.” Ian sighed when Mickey raised her eyebrows at her. “You don't have to listen to it.”

“Whatever,” Mickey said, shoving the CD into the pocket of her long coat. She was still warm and tingly in the wake of her orgasm, so she didn't push the issue further, didn't turn it into the argument she might have. “See ya later.”

The bell tingled after her as she left the Kash and Grab. She walked home, smoking with one hand while the other hand traced the edge of the CD case in her pocket. It wasn't until later that night that she actually took it out of her pocket, opening it up and reading over the handwritten track list.

_Hey Mickey – Toni Basil_

“Fuck youuu,” she said, even though Ian couldn't hear her, but she was grinning to herself as she continued to read.

_Bad Reputation – Joan Jett_

_Cherry Bomb – The Runaways_

_Pour Some Sugar On Me – Def Leppard_

_My Neck, My Back – Khia_

_I Don't Do Boys – Elektra_

_Do I Wanna Know – Arctic Monkeys_

_Animals – Maroon 5_

_Drive – Halsey_

_Hotel Room – Regina Spektor_

_Rebel Rebel – David Bowie_

_Are You Gonna Be My Girl? - Jet_

_Friends – Ed Sheeran_

Mickey's tongue was pushing at the corner of her mouth by the time she was done. Some of the songs she had a vague idea of, but some of those towards the second half of the CD made her feel kind of tense, especially the Jet song. There was a lot left unspoken between her and Ian. They fucked, but they also hung out, got high or drunk together, Mickey went to her shows, Ian hung out with her and Mandy. It wasn't just a hook up, but they never acknowledged it. This felt dangerously like Ian's attempt to acknowledge it.

All the same, she stuck the CD on and flopped onto her bed to listen to it. Smiling or laughing here and there, until it got to the Arctic Monkeys.

_Have you no idea that you're in deep?_

Mickey sat up, brow furrowing.

_Do I wanna know if this feeling flows both ways?_

This is exactly the kind of shit she was concerned about.

_Maybe I'm too busy being yours to fall for somebody new._

_So have you got the guts?_

She had felt prickly and annoyed by the lyrics. The next song was a distraction, a sex song, used to disguise the hidden messages Ian had blended among her mixtape.

_All we do is think about the feelings that we hide._

_Be my girl._

_We're not friends, nor have we ever been._

_We just try to keep those secrets in a lie._

_And if you know me like I know you, you should love me._

_Friends just sleep in another bed, and friends don't treat me like you do._

Mickey felt cold and irritable by the time the CD was finished, defensive, ready for a fight. She chewed her lip, some of the words sticking in her head. She had to stop this now, before it got any worse. She had to put Ian in her place.

“The fuck was this about?” Mickey asked the next time she was in the shop, tossing the CD onto the counter with enough force to crack the case.

“You listened to it?”

“Yeah, I listened to it.” Mickey laughed; a sharp, sarcastic edge. “The fuck you playin' at? You think we're boyfriend girlfriend here? You're nothing but a warm mouth to me.”

Ian's confused expression cracked, pain coming to the surface, those ocean eyes going glassy. Mickey's throat felt tight, but she held on to her anger, let it drive her. She grabbed Ian by the front of her shirt and dragged her across the counter, holding the cracked CD case so close to her face that the edge caught her cheek, left a pale white scrape line.

“You ever pull any of this kind of shit again, and we're done.”

“Mick-”

“Done, Gallagher. Got it?”

“Yeah.” Ian sighed, going limp in her hold. “I got it.”

“Good.” Mickey shoved her back and dropped the CD case again. She left the store without another word, exhaling shakily once she was on her own.

In her pocket, removed from the case, was the handwritten list of songs.

*

It takes a lot longer than she expects. Hours and hours of searching and reading lyrics, arranging, changing her mind, more searching. Finally, she has a playlist she's satisfied with. She only hopes Ian will like it. She writes her own list, her handwriting blocky and messy.

_I'm A Mess – Ed Sheeran_

_I'm Just Your Problem – Adventure Time_

_All I Want Is To Be Your Girl – Holly Miranda_

_Closer – Teagan and Sara_

_I Really Like You – Carly Rae Jepson_

_Give Me Love – Ed Sheeran_

_Don't Leave – Snakehips_

_Issues – Julia Michaels_

_Riptide – Taylor Swift_

_Cold Coffee – Ed Sheeran_

_Take Me To Church - Hozier_

_She's So High – Tal Bachman_

_Asleep – The Smiths_

_Tenerife Sea – Ed Sheeran_

She props the CD in Ian's letter box, hoping it doesn't damage it, then she gets out of there sharpish before anyone sees her. It's a few days before Ian texts her.

_Meet me somewhere?_

_ School bleachers? _

_Sure :) see you soon_

“This doesn't really seem like your kind of music,” Ian says when she arrives, ducking her way under the beams. Mickey's already stress smoked three cigarettes. Her heart beats hard at the appearance of Ian, and she drops her current cigarette, pressing it out with her shoe.

“You like different music, so I tried to vary it,” she says. She does not admit that she may have Googled lesbian mixtape ideas.

“There's four Ed Sheeran songs on here.”

“You really like Ed Sheeran.”

“Yeah.” Ian laughs, and Mickey feels hope bubble in her chest. “Yeah, I do. Carly Rae Jepsen?”

“You have a crush on Carly Rae Jepsen.”

“No I don't.”

“You totally do, man.”

“I so don't. Like, okay, she's cute, and I like her mouth, the way it always kinda looks like it's full of sweets.”

“See? Super gay for her.”

“Shut up. I just like plush lips.” Ian's eyes dip briefly to Mickey's lips, and she feels heat wash through her. “Okay, but... Adventure Time?”

“You, uh. There was that time we got high and watched Adventure Time, and you said the music was real good.”

“You remember that?” Ian blinks, surprised.

“Of course I do.”

“Oh... And, Asleep?”

“I, uh. I read in an interview once that you listened to it a lot when you were sick. That it, uh. Made you feel less alone.”

“And you thought that a song I associate with my illness would be a great idea for a mixtape?”

“No, I just- I wanted to show I pay attention, even when you think I don't. And... Well, you make me feel less alone.”

Ian sighs, pushing a hand through her hair and looking at Mickey with sad eyes.

“This is a real sweet idea, Mickey. Really. It's a great mix, and I really liked it, but... It doesn't magically fix everything. It doesn't change what happened. If you had of given this to me before... Fuck. I dunno. I guess I'd have been even more into you, if that were possible.” Ian laughs, an edge of sadness, looking at the CD in her hand. “I, uh. I burned a copy into my iTunes library, so you can have this back.”

Mickey feels numb as Ian puts the CD case into her hand.

“What the fuck am I meant to do, Ian? I was scared back then. I made stupid fuckin' decisions. Are you gonna punish me for that forever?”

“I'm not punishing you, I'm just not willing to set myself up to be hurt again. I- Please, Mickey. This is hard enough.”

“Oh, this is hard for you?” Mickey moves closer, shoving Ian, anger bubbling close to the surface. “Seems real fuckin' hard for you, with your fuckin' perfect life.”

“Yes, it is fuckin' hard for me, because I _loved_ you, Mickey. You were the first person I loved like that, and the only one so far, and the way you treated me- And perfect? Like, yeah, I get to do what I love, I got pretty fuckin' lucky that way, but you don't even know what I've gone through. No one knows how bad it was when I first got sick, not even my family. It was fuckin' hell and I had no one I could turn to. Not that you give a fuck. You just miss havin' someone to get off with, right? A warm mouth. Only downside to me fucking off.”

Mickey is breathing hard; short, sharp exhales through her nose, fists curled tight at her sides, but Ian's words have knocked most of the fight out of her. Her chest deflates, her shoulders curl inward, and her head droops forward, ashamed.

“I should never have said that.”

“No, but you did.”

“I want it to be how it was.”

“Even if I was up for it, I'm openly queer, and I'm in the public eye. It won't be long until they start spreading rumours about you.”

“I don't care.”

“But you do. You really do, and that kind of situation isn't fair on either of us. Thanks for the mix, Mickey, but let's just stop dragging up the past now, okay? 'Cause I can't go over this again. It's too exhausting.”

“Right, well, better fuck off then, bitch. See if I care.”

Ian frowns at her, sympathetic, but she does turn and leave. Mickey watches her go, a mixture of grief and regret, wishing she hadn't left them parting on one of her desperate attempts to save face.

*

“Fuck off, bitch,” Mickey snapped, flipping Ian off. She had grinned in response, ever calm in the face of Mickey's bursts of aggression. It was both irritating and refreshing.

“C'mon. It's not really jamming if you won't sing with me.”

“I don't sing.”

Ian sighed, strumming lazily at her guitar as she held Mickey with those wide puppy dog eyes.

“No,” Mickey said, insistent. She stretched out in the back of the Gallagher van and kicked Ian's thigh with the toes of her foot. “You're the musician. You play for me.”

Ian sighed again; loud, long, drawn out, over dramatic. Mickey kicked her again.

“Fine.” She started to play a familiar song, and Mickey kicked her once more. “No Ed Sheeran.”

“I'm the musician, remember? I get to pick.”

“No Ed Sheeran.”

“This is prejudice.”

“No Ed Sheeran. I'm sick of hearin' the same songs. Play me something different.”

Ian dropped her hand and wriggled her fingers against the sole of Mickey's foot, causing her to thrash wildly away from the tickling sensation.

“Ey!”

“Fine, fine.” Ian thought for a moment, before she started playing again. After a moment, her voice joined the sound of the guitar, soft and intimate in the small space of the van, washing over Mickey like a physical warmth. “ _You've got a fast car, I want a ticket to anywhere. Maybe we can make a deal, maybe together we can get somewhere. Any place is better. Starting from zero got nothing to lose. Maybe we'll make somethin'._ ”

Mickey watched Ian, her eyes closed as she leaned over the guitar. She looked peaceful, content. Mickey sucked on her lower lip, feeling a sudden, intense throb of affection in her chest for her. She dared to look for another moment before she flopped back, closed her eyes and focused on Ian's voice.

“ _You got a fast car, is it fast enough that we can fly away? We gotta make a decision. Leave tonight or live and die this way._ ”

*

Mickey's sober when she starts, thinking she won't actually go through with it, but by the time she's learned the song, she's drunk as fuck, hands a little shaky on her old, beat up guitar, but not too bad, she thinks. Not that bad. Her voice is not up to the same standard as her guitar playing; quiet, hoarse, rough round the edges. She's definitely not hitting some of the notes, but she pours all the pain and grief and love and fucking adoration that fills her into it.

“ _We were just kids when we fell in love, not knowing what it was. I will not give you up this time._ ”

Her fingers definitely stumble sometimes, tripping over chords, but for the most part she has practised enough while she was downing the bottle of whiskey that they remember what to do. She closes her eyes as the words fall from her lips, sinking into the song, remembering how things used to be, when Ian was all smiles and soft affection for her.

“ _I don't deserve this. You look perfect tonight._ ” Mickey coughs as she finishes, her throat dry from the singing. “Shit, man. You make this look a lot easier than it is.”

She sets her guitar down and lifts her phone, fingering hovering over the End Recording option.

“Look... I'm sorry for all the shit before you left. I am. Whether you believe me or not. I miss you... I love you.”

She saves it and sends it before she can second guess herself, tossing the phone across the room. It lands with a thump on her battered old couch.

“Shit,” she says, her head spinning with the rush of alcohol. “Oh, fuck.”

Then she has to lie down as nausea rolls over her. She's not sure if it's from drinking or from what she's just done.

*

“I thought you'd left,” Mickey said, when she came out of her room to find Ian bustling about in the kitchen.

“Nah, I just went to get some groceries. There's, like, no food in your house.”

Mickey scratched her stomach and belched as she padded bare foot into the kitchen.

“There's stuff in the freezer.”

“Man can't survive on pizza rolls alone, Mickey.”

“Good thing I ain't no man, then.”

Ian stuck her tongue out at her as she moved around, brandishing a pan she'd just scrubbed clean and grabbing a mixing bowl full of ingredients as she passed.

“Whatcha makin'?”

“Blueberry pancakes.”

“You, uh.” Mickey arched her neck, watching as Ian poured pancake batter into the pan. “You get any syrup?”

“Yeah, it's in the bag. You wanna stick some coffee on?”

Mickey made coffee while Ian made pancakes, sitting a stacked plate in front of her before going back to make her own.

“Jesus, Mickey. I think they're dead.”

“What?”

“Your pancakes. You must be tryna drown them, right? With that much syrup?”

“I like syrup, so what.”

“That... Can't be healthy.”

“I 'on 'ar,” Mickey mumbled around a large forkful of pancake, flipping Ian off.

“Sweet tooth.” Ian nodded wisely. “I'll remember that.”

*

When the door knocks for the third time, Mickey drags herself off her bed with a groan and stumbles to answer it in boxers and a vest. The fuck even bothers to knock? She's still rubbing her tired eyes when she opens the door to Ian, holding two coffee cups and a bag of donuts.

“That's the second time you've used Ed Sheeran against me,” she says, leaning against the door frame. Mickey blinks dumbly at her. “I'm starting to think this is tactical warfare.”

Then, without invitation, Ian strolls in. Mickey's brain is still trying to process her presence, and it's a moment before she can move from the door. Ian's set the cups on the kitchen table and is tearing open the bag of donuts for easy access.

“Thought you might be hungover.”

“Uh. Kinda.”

“Drink, before it gets cold.”

“Uh.” Mickey walks slowly to the kitchen, before tentatively sitting. “Thanks.”

She looks at Ian with darkly underlined eyes, tired, her head thumping. Ian looks back, fresh and clean in the morning sunshine, wearing a hoody over a vest and sweatpants.

“Fuck it,” she says, and leans across, catching the back of Mickey's neck and dragging her in for a kiss. Mickey is briefly stunned, then she kisses back hungrily, pressing her tongue eagerly into Ian's mouth, not caring that she hasn't brushed her teeth and must taste like alcohol and the stale taste of sleep.

They're both breathing hard when they break apart, watching each other with dark eyes.

“Anyone else home?” Ian asks, her eyes dropping to Mickey's lips. Mickey shakes her head.

Minutes later they're in Mickey's room, a trail of clothes left along the floor. Ian pushes her back on the bed and crawls between her thighs, catching her kiss swollen lips with hers once more before she trails down her neck. She licks at the sensitive area beneath Mickey's ear, causing her to squirm, then strums her tongue firm over her pulse point. Mickey pants, open mouthed, fingers pushing through Ian's hair. Ian thumbs at one of her nipples and Mickey feels soaked already, feels her cunt throb between her legs.

“Ian,” she says, breathless, trying to keep watching her, trying to believe this is actually happening. Ian glances up at her, holds eye contact as she takes one of Mickey's nipples between her lips and flicks her tongue against it. Two of her long, slim fingers slide through Mickey's wetness. She draws a few teasing circles around Mickey's clit before she presses both of them into her at once. Mickey's hips arch up, and she moans, low in her throat.

“Missed this,” Ian says, voice low, nipping at Mickey's nipple with her teeth. “The fuckin' noises you make. How you fall apart beneath me.”

Ian moves her fingers with more speed and force, and Mickey's head spins. She only slows to eases a third finger in, curving them and dragging her fingertips along Mickey's G-spot. Mickey whimpers, chewing her lip, blunt nails scratching at Ian's shoulders. Then Ian's sliding down, out of her reach. She spreads Mickey's lips with her other hand. Usually one to tease, her current impatience is apparent in the way she goes straight for Mickey's clit, assaulting it with her tongue. It's only a few minutes before Mickey's thighs are quivering as she pulses in quick contractions around Ian's fingers. Ian licks her through it, then looks up at her, that devious glint in her eyes. She withdraws her fingers and presses Mickey's hips down with both her hands, moving her tongue even faster.

Mickey breathes hard and fast, feeling over-sensitive, almost painful. She clutches at Ian's hair, tries to pull her away, but Ian sticks firm. There are tears starting to collect at the corners of her eyes by the time her second orgasm strikes, harder than the first, waves of electrical shocks coursing through her entire body. Her toes go numb. Her fingers tingle. Her hips rock up against Ian's mouth. It seems to last and last and last.

“Stop, Ian, stop,” she says, tugging at her hair again. This time Ian withdraws, her lower face soaked with Mickey's juices. Mickey collapses back against the sheets, breathing hard. “Fuck. I don't think I can move.”

“Aw. Maybe I should just ride your face then,” Ian teases, stroking a thumb along Mickey's lower lip. Mickey can smell her own wetness. Her pussy clenches at Ian's words.

“Yes,” she says, still breathless, but eagerly nodding her head.

“What?”

“Yes, I want you to ride my face.”

“Really?” Ian looks uncertain, but Mickey tugs at her thighs until she shifts over her, bracing herself against the wall. She looks down at what she can see of Mickey's head between her thighs. “Sure about this?”

Mickey doesn't answer, just grabs Ian's ass and pulls her down, lapping lightly at her clit. Ian sighs, her head tilting back, and isn't that a fuckin' vision? Her nipples are hard and erect, and the very slight swell of her breasts are noticeable from this angle. Mickey reaches up with one hand, rolls a nipple between her fingers. Ian's hips jerk against her. She runs her tongue down, using her other hand to hold Ian's hip in place as she pushes her tongue into her entrance.

“Really fuckin' missed your mouth.” Ian moans as Mickey starts to bob her head, fucking her with her tongue. “Jesus, Mick.”

As Mickey fucks into Ian with her tongue, her nose rubs against her clit. With her whole face pressed into Ian's pussy like this, it's difficult to breathe, but worth it. So completely worth it. To prove herself again. To hear Ian moaning and heavy breathing above her. To make her feel as good as she can. One of Ian's hands comes to rest in Mickey's hair, fingers tangling, just holding. Her fingertips rub against her scalp in silent praise and Mickey fuckin' feels like she's glowing with it. Then maybe that's the afterglow of her own two orgasms.

“Fuck. Almost there,” Ian says. Mickey moves back, pressing two fingers into Ian as she brings her tongue back to her clit. She fucks her fingers into her hard and fast, pulling back her clitoral hood so she can lick directly onto it. It's not long before Ian comes, her thighs pressing against either side of Mickey's head, her hot warmth tightening around her fingers. When she's done, she collapses onto the sheets beside her, catching her breath. Mickey rolls to face her, cradling her cheek and sharing soft, sweet kisses as Ian recovers.

“Shit, that was good,” Ian says, stroking her fingers over the soft flesh of Mickey's stomach.

“Yeah.”

“I forgot how good.”

“I didn't.”

Ian snorts and presses a kiss to Mickey's shoulder.

“I meant to have a conversation with you first, y'know.” She sighs, trailing her fingers up, circling them around the sides of Mickey's breasts. She squirms, batting Ian's hand away, ticklish. “But I always lose control around you.”

Mickey watches her, wary she's going to be shot down again. Ian sits up slowly.

“Look, if we're gonna do this, it can't be like before. I... I need to know you're in this.”

“I am.”

“And that you won't just change your mind and run away when you get scared.”

“I won't.” Mickey sits up too, looking at Ian with an open vulnerability she wouldn't dare show anyone else. “I don't wanna go back to being without you. You're the only good thing that's happened in my shitty life, and it took losing you for me to realise that, and it fuckin' sucked. You're it for me, Ian. I don't want no one else.”

Ian smiles and takes Mickey's hands.

“I don't think it's right to think I'm the only good thing in your life. That's a dangerous kinda negative thought cycle, but I don't want anyone else, either. Y'know, hooking up with people, I never know if they want me 'cause of me or because of, y'know, who I am. What I do. The ideal of me in their head, but you knew me before all that. You know where I'm from and who I am and you liked me without any of that.”

“Yeah.”

“But, it's different, now. With... The bipolar thing. I'm managing it, but my moods still go up and down, and my meds can go out of balance sometimes. It's kinda trial and error. I took a self management course so I can try and learn the trigger symptoms, make it easier to manage, but... I've only had a few cycles. It'll take me a while before I'm more on top of it.”

“I know. I read up on it. Like, a lot,” Mickey admits. Ian's expression softens. She leans in, pressing her forehead against Mickey's and breathing her next words between them.

“It doesn't scare you?”

“Only thing that scares me is the thought I might never see you again. I can deal with anything else. We can deal with anything else together.”

“Together. And, uh, it's cool if we don't go public with it, but I'd like to tell my family. If I start disappearing without telling them where and showing up at all hours with hickeys and stuff, they're gonna worry I'm having a manic episode or something. But I can ask them to keep quiet.”

“No. It's okay. I don't care who knows.”

“I can't ask you to come out before you're ready.”

“Ey. You're a big star, now. Girls think you're single, they're gonna be all over you, and your ass is mine, Gallagher.”

Ian snorts and presses a few quick kisses to Mickey's lips.

“What about your dad?”

Mickey shrugs.

“He'll probably be out again in a few months, but Mandy's moving to LA for that job you got her next month. I could probably go stay with her.”

“Or... You could always stay with me.”

“Your house is overpacked as it is.”

“Yeah, but, we could get our own flat. I mean, we'd have to come back for visits when I'm home, but for most of the time.”

“I don't need to be kept.”

“That's not what this is, Mickey. You and Mandy have had a lot of shit in your life. I just think you deserve some niceness now. And, y'know, I listened to that cover a lot. You're pretty good for havin' taught yourself. We could get you some lessons, sharpen up your skills a bit. You could play with me.”

Mickey looks at her wide eyed, then shakes her head.

“Nah man. I don't play in front of people. I just fuck around on my own, alright?”

“Well we could have our own band then. I could wear a disguise. We could play little clubs, like old times.”

“You want us to be some fuckin' Teagan and Sara lesbian power duo?”

“Not exactly Teagan and Sara. Since, y'know, they're twins. So are The Veronicas, though I think only one of them is gay.”

“You just know all the queer girl groups in the music industry, ey?”

“Sadly, no, but maybe one day.” Ian grins, pressing a kiss to Mickey's shoulder. “Just think about it, alright?”

“Fine,” Mickey says, running a hand through Ian's hair. “But, uh. How about those donuts now?”

*

The first time Ian told Mickey she loved her, she thought she was asleep. It had been one of the times Terry was in jail, and they'd risked using Mickey's room for their hook up. Warm and hazy in her post orgasmic glow, Mickey had lay with her head rested in the curve of Ian's shoulder, breathing against the base of her throat. Ian rubbed soft patterns against her back, her hand warm, her touch comforting. Mickey had stayed still so that she wouldn't stop, keeping her eyes closed so that Ian wouldn't think she was basking in the touch.

“Mick,” Ian said, her breath soft and ticklish in her hair. “Mickey?”

She shook her gently. Mickey made a soft noise of protest, pressed her face into her neck, pretended she was still sleeping. Ian sighed, soft, quiet, but content. She pressed a kiss into Mickey's hair.

“I love you,” she said, so quiet Mickey almost missed it. She had to fight not to tense at the words.

Ian pressed another kiss into her hair, then settled down into the bed beside her.

*

Mickey stands to the side of the stage at Ian's benefit show. Even from here the screaming of the crowd is almost deafening.

“Wish me luck,” Ian says, grinning.

“You don't need luck, asshole,” Mandy says, punching Ian in the arm. “You've got this.”

“She's right. You can drop the modesty.”

Ian sticks her tongue out, then leans in to kiss Mickey firm on the mouth.

“Gross,” Mandy says, shoving Ian out onto the stage. She laughs as she leaves them with her family, heading out into the lights. The roar of the crowd gets even louder. Mickey watches her intently, absently tonguing at the corner of her mouth.

“You're really fucked, aren't you?” Mandy says, looking at her with a smug grin.

“What?”

“You just watch her with absolute reverence.”

“Fuck off,” Mickey says, even though she's right. Before they can bicker any more, Ian starts talking. Welcoming the crowd and introducing herself, talking a bit about her cause, before she starts in to a set list of her own songs. It's only towards the end that she sits to do an acoustic cover.

“I'd like to dedicate this one to my girlfriend,” she says, beaming brightly. “She's here to support me tonight.”

Ian looks off stage. Mickey's not even sure if Ian can see her past the glare of the lights, but she smiles that dopey soft smile all the same.

“I love you, Mick.”

Then she starts to play.

“ _Lovin' can hurt, lovin' can hurt sometimes, but it's the only thing that I know. And when it gets hard, y'know it can get hard sometimes, it is the only thing that makes us feel alive._ ”

“Aww, that's so fuckin' sweet it's sickenin',” Mandy says, squeezing Mickey's arm. Mickey ignores her, eyes only for Ian.

“ _So you can keep me inside the pocket of your ripped jeans, holding me closer 'til our eyes meet. You won't ever be alone. Wait for me to come home._ ”

Fiona lays a hand on her other shoulder. Mickey looks at her, and she smiles back warmly. For once, she feels what family is meant to be.

“Oh, _you can fit me inside the necklace you got when you were sixteen, next to your heartbeat where I should be. Keep it deep within your soul. And if you hurt me, well that's okay, baby, only words bleed._ ”

Mickey looks back at Ian and as the song comes to an end, she glances back to the side of the stage, meeting Mickey's gaze.

“ _Wait for me to come home._ ”

*

“You play guitar?” Ian's eyes went wide and bright when she saw the beat up piece of shit in the corner of Mickey's room. Before Mickey could respond, she had bounced across to it and picked it up, cradling it gently in her hands like a child. “You never told me!”

“I don't really. It's just a piece of junk I picked up when I was a kid.”

Ian propped herself on the edge of Mickey's bed and strummed her fingers along the strings, pulling a face at the out of tune twang.

“Yeah. They never stay in tune. Piece of shit.”

“Probably just cheap strings,” Ian said, resting it against her knee as she started tuning it by ear. “I used to have one that was the same.”

“Whatever, man. Put it away.”

“We should jam sometime.”

“I told you I don't really play.”

“I could teach you!”

“Can you just put it away? C'mon.” Mickey tried to take it from Ian's hands, but she didn't let go.

“Just lemme finish tuning it.”

“Whatever.” Mickey left her to it, stomping through to the kitchen to get a beer. When she came back, she stopped outside the door, listening to Ian playing through the door.

“ _She's like cold coffee in the morning. I'm drunk off last night's whiskey and Coke. She'll make me shiver without warning, and make me laugh as if I'm in on the joke. And you can stay with me forever, or you could stay with me for now._ ”

Mickey sighed, finally pushing the door open with a bang. Ian started at the noise.

“Just tuning, ey?”

“Was making sure it sounded okay,” Ian said, grinning, but under Mickey's cold stare she finally set the guitar aside.

“Better,” Mickey said, propping their beers beside the bed. “So you gonna get on me or what?”

*

Ian grins across at Mickey. The club is reminiscent of the night they first hooked up; small and cramped. She pushes her hood down, a beanie still covering her red hair, but a few people start to recognise her, pointing and yelling excitedly.

“Ready?” Ian asks, lifting her guitar and resting it on her lap.

“No,” Mickey says, clutching her own guitar like a lifeline. Not the battered old thing she'd had for years, but a new one that Ian had got for her, a gorgeous dark blue. The strings actually stay in tune for more than a few songs. Ian laughs and starts to play. Mickey sucks on her lower lip and follows her lead, strumming along with her.

“ _Heartache to heartache we stand. No promises, no demands. Love is a battlefield._ ”

Mickey glances at Ian as she plays, eyes shut as she sings, looking even more vibrant and beautiful than the first time she saw her. Her cheekbones are sharper now, her face defined, and though her hoody hides away the defined muscle, Mickey knows it's there.

“ _Believe me, believe me, I can't tell you why, but I'm trapped by your love, and I'm chained to your side_.”

Mickey joins Ian in the chorus, her voice much quieter, much rougher, barely audible compared to Ian's.

“ _We are young._ ”

Ian's eyes flutter open and she grins at her broadly, and Mickey lights up, reflecting her happiness back to her.

“ _We are strong. No one can tell us we're wrong. Searching our hearts for so long. Both of us knowing, love is a battlefield._ ”


End file.
